The Bloody Hill, Act I

The Battle of Bunker Hill
Howard Pyle (PD)

By the time Sergeant Andrews' company landed on Morton's Point, the afternoon was already well along. Andrews' shirt was drenched in sweat and it ran in rivulets down his face from under his bearskin cap. He had no idea where Captain Mims had got off to, once again it was Corporal Holloway and himself getting the men in line.

The grenadiers from the various regiments in the town had been grouped together, as they had been for the march to Concord. They were in the center of the force commanded by Sir Robert Pigot, off to the right Andrews saw that the light infantry, under the command of Sir William Howe, were preparing to advance down the northern side of the Charlestown peninsula.

The troops on the left flank of Pigot's line were taking fire from the town of Charlestown, a number of men were already down and Andrews wondered why they didn't clear Charlestown first before assaulting the hill before them.

"Damn it, Sir, we need to suppress those militia firing upon us from the town."

"Sir William has sent a dispatch to Admiral Graves, asking for him to shell the town. That should be happening at any moment ..."

As soon as the lieutenant dispatched from Sir William finished his explanation to Sir Robert, they both turned as they heard a loud bang from the direction of the harbor. HMS Somerset had a cloud of powder smoke floating up into her rigging from a single cannon shot.

"Oh, there! I believe they're firing carcass¹, Sir Robert."

Sir Robert looked where the lieutenant was pointing and as he did so, the projectile hit the roof of a building which was immediately engulfed in flame.

"Please give my regards to Sir William, Leftenant. As soon as the town is burning, we shall advance." Sir Robert Pigot was somewhat concerned that they were burning towns now, but the colonials had brought this upon themselves, hadn't they?

Seamus McTeague's hands were very sweaty, the day was hot and he was tired. They had been up all night preparing the earthwork which he now stood behind, waiting with his comrades as they watched the regulars landing on the shoreline below.

Though they'd been under cannon fire for a large part of the morning, it had been mostly ineffective. For the one man who'd been hit though, the British guns had been very effective. He hadn't seen that, only heard about it from a fellow from a neighboring town.

The cannons had stopped for a while. Only to start up again as one of the British ships standing just off the town of Charlestown had opened fire. Not with a full broadside but with only a few guns firing at the town. Once Charlestown was in flames, the cannon fire had stopped altogether. Now they waited.

At one point there had been a mild panic when one of the officers had realized that their left flank was completely open. The regulars could advance upon the narrow beach running along the northern side of the peninsula with no danger from the redoubt upon the hill. He had seen a group of men head that way, Connecticut men under an officer named Knowlton.

After those worthies had built up a crude wall, they were joined by two regiments of New Hampshiremen, which his sergeant had told him.

"Good lads, one of their commanders, Colonel John Stark, he's an old Indian fighter. I've heard good things about the other man as well, Colonel Reed. Both 'em saw action against the French and the Indians. They'll give the redcoats what for."

The Whites of Their Eyes
Ken Riley (PD)

"Here they come lads! Make every shot count!"

The men from New Hampshire saw the regulars getting ready to move forward, light infantry from the look of them. They were in a column, there wasn't room on the shingle for them to deploy into line. The New Hampshire men lined the crude wall, perhaps fifteen men across, not enough room for a long line, but as each rank fired, the next could come up and fire. As they were lined up rather deep behind the wall, the regulars would be shredded by musket fire.

Will Hensley, from Derry, New Hampshire, watched as the redcoats advanced, they weren't quite within effective musket range yet and they seemed not to notice the crude wall crossing the beach from the water to the embankment not far from the water's edge. Will was in the front line, ready to open fire.

He saw that the light infantry had quickened their pace, only to slow when one of their officers noticed the wall in front of them, that man had just raised his sword to shout a command when the New Hampshiremen received their own command ...

"FIRE!"

The light infantry were staggered, their front rank had fallen, nearly to a man, all dead or badly wounded. They fired a ragged volley, which went over the heads of the New Hampshiremen before taking another volley from the wall. This one sent them reeling back down the way they had come.

One of the men raised a cheer, only to be silenced by Colonel Stark.

"Save yer breath, lads. They'll be back, we've won the first round but this fight is just starting!"

The drums rolled, Captain Mims, who had just rejoined the company, reeking of alcohol, raised his sword and ordered, "Company will advance!"

As Sergeant Andrews stepped off, he glanced to his left, the men's alignment was flawless, it was if they were on the parade ground. Many of the lads were anxious for the chance to repay the colonials for Lexington and Concord and today was that day.

As the ground rose, Andrews realized that the nearly waist high hay would cause problems. Many of the men began to curse and stumble as the long grass caught the buttons of their gaiters. It also concealed the unevenness of the ground itself, Andrews nearly spraining his ankle as he stepped into a hole and nearly fell.

The drums thumped as the line slowed, dressed itself, then continued up the hill. The sweat was pouring down Andrews' face as they advanced, now not only his shirt but his waistcoat was drenched as well.

Ahead he could see the earthwork, the colonials were there, low to the ground, only their heads and their shoulders visible. Of course, their muskets could also be seen now as they got closer. Andrews drew in a deep breath, before he could shout to the men, a rippling fire exploded to their front.

Andrews heard the balls zipping and hissing through the air, he was splashed with blood and bone particles as the man beside him was hit in the head. He could hear the thumps of lead impacting flesh as he took another step, then stopped.

The men wavered, then fled back down the hill the way they had come, except for Captain Mims, the drunken fool was still advancing, sword held high, his back to his company as they abandoned him.

"Captain, come back, the men are fleeing!"

Mims stumbled, then turned around, the sword falling from his hand as the life fled from his body. His chest was bloody from the two musket balls which had driven into him. His body was dying but his brain refused to believe it.

"Sergeant, help me ..."

Mims stumbled again, this time falling to his knees. The colonials were firing again, this time individual shots as they fired at the fleeing soldiers. Andrews heard the whizz of a ball passing very near his head.

He knelt and caught his captain as the man fell face down into his arms.

"Sir?"

Andrews turned Mims face to the sun, no use, the captain was gone.

Andrews fled down the hill in shame, his company had fallen apart and he'd left his captain behind, dead on that bloody hill.

Seamus watched in amazement as the regulars broke and fled back down the hill. One of the men nearby started to raise a cheer but was silenced by his sergeant. Seamus couldn't believe his eyes. This was the most feared army in the world?

He reloaded his musket, feeling in his pouch, he realized that he didn't have much in the way of ammunition. He also felt some concern at his lack of a bayonet. He had nearly wet himself upon seeing the line of redcoats advancing in near perfect order, their firelocks shouldered, their bayonets fixed and gleaming in the hot sun.

But they had run, was the battle over now?

He heard the shouts from down the hill, down by the water more regulars were landing, those who had been repulsed were reforming. As the lines reformed and the drums began to thump again, Seamus felt incredibly thirsty.

"Sarge, is their any water?"

Sergeant Ishmael Thomas shook his head, "Somethin' else the officers seem to have forgot, lad. What little we had is gone. How are you fixed for powder and shot?"

"I don't know, Sarge, another fifteen shots perhaps, then I'll be needing more."

"Well, if it comes to that, take it from the dead."

Seamus looked around, there were no dead on their side. Looking to his front he saw numerous redcoated bodies sprawled some twenty yards down the slope. Some of them still moving, many of them unmoving, their glassy eyes staring, unseeing, into the deep blue of the Boston sky.

"From the regulars?" he asked incredulously.

"As the battle ripens laddie, we'll lose some of our boys, get it from them. If worse comes to worse, we'll go forward and get it from those lads down the slope. But if they come on like they just did once more, I doubt they'll have the stomach to keep at it. See 'em off one more time, and we might win this just like we won back in April."

Seamus looked towards the water again, out of the smoke from the burning town and the smoke from their last volley, the redcoats appeared once more. The lines were shorter but the redcoats were coming on as if they hadn't been hurt at all.

"Get ready, boys! Here they come again!"

¹ Carcass shot was a form of incendiary. Very flammable, they would break open upon impact, dousing the surroundings with the burning material from the shell itself. Typically composed of a mixture of saltpeter, sulfur, rosin, sulfide of antimony, tallow and turpentine.

FWIW: On this date in 2012, I posted for the first time here on the Chant. It's been fourteen interesting years. I pray I can continue for at least another fourteen. God willing ...